Take time to realize how hard it is to find,
two wondering stars meeting randomly in the universe.
Regardless of their features, they connect.
Regardless of their fears, they explode.
That's how miracles happen,
That's how dreams are dreamt.
Hoje escrevo, não para pairar sobre coisas e outras cenas não ditas...ou ditas de formas menos claras e pintadas com pós de imaginação. Costumo usar um pincel tipo arco-iris (yes, I fucking love it) para descarregar fúrias e felicidades neste espaço. Mas hoje não. Hoje, digo-o de forma crua e descolorida. Nada a temer, porque acredito quase sempre no que aqui respiro...ou expiro, tanto faz.
Quando olho para cima, à noite e fora de casa, esqueço-me de contar as estrelas. É facto que aqui, na cidade, tal memória é apagada pela luz. Mas a verdade é que me esqueço que ali estão, tipo anjos que gozam com a nossa existência. No bom sentido, quero eu dizer...afinal, eles sabem mais um bocadinho, de tudo.
Ontem um amigo pintou de negro o seu perfil. Odeio quando o fazem... Não gosto de más notícias! Aquela cor amedronta-me o curto prazo, quando declarada assim, tão cruamente. Odeio preocupações mas preocupo-me. É um Amigo (como hábito, dizemos sempre que são poucos...os Amigos) que publicamente declara um luto, seja pelo que for.
Odeio curiosidades mórbidas e por isso tento estender a mão...não pela razão, mas pela tristeza...a do meu Amigo. E agrada-me saber que ele o sabe.
Há mais uma estrela no céu...pintada de fresco, ouvi dizer. Porque continuo na cidade e aqui a fé nas estrelas é dado adquirido, elas estão por lá.
Triste notícia a que pintou de negro o perfil do meu Amigo. Era seu Amigo e deixa família, pequena e grande. Sensações de impotência, incompreensão, majestosos ódios e palavrões, vale tudo. Nova injustiça para quem trabalha fora de casa, numa qualquer distância, por aí...aqui. Então olho para cima, já sem perguntas porque deixei de as fazer, literalmente.
Pinto apenas mais uma estrela...desta feita com asas. E acredito que ali fica.
I see bracelets and shiny stuff. All around me is in silence...apart from the slow motion song that doesn't leave my mind, over and over again. And my hands are covered by a tan I can't recognise from some Island I've been to.
Outside seems cold, though I'm wearing shorts and a simple white t-shirt with a simbol you pay for. I miss the cold though, and can't remember why.
There's money in the bank, cars in the garage and a closet full of shit. Expensive material everywhere, just because... But the big flat TV's off.
I wish I had a guitar, but I can't play. I'd smash it against the floor, that'd be fun. And by monday some lady would clean it, not me. But then again I was taught to clean my own dirt. By whom I try to remember through pictures and smells.
This is one of those years. All's great but the sense of it I find peculiar. Like I've dreamt a dream that isn't one, but a reality made of water, where everything flows naturally to reach the next. All but one.
I can't help wondering what the fuck I'm doing here. A place where the new replaces the filth. I'm not new, just fresh. And reinvention is my word, every now and again, though it's all in my mind...not surprising for the others, they see the sense in it.
My tattoos express the wild in my thoughts, but they use words of dolls...how beautiful...but it's not. They're the symbol of escape. They're the scream of millions of failed tryouts. I'm still here!
And learn to leave me be. If I don't answer, don't judge my choice. I hate chatting, sometimes, and I won't play the nice to fill your expectations, not anymore. That's just me.
What if one life is not enough? What if the space between each dream or desire is too narrow and the lanes are just not enough? I've dreamt too much, or maybe not, but time is just not long enough.
One life...to make it happen. All of my secrets, all of my wishes, they're just too many. And one life, not big enough.
No complaints though, each time I stop, I know, each one is reached. Without knowing how or why, or just because I've tried hard enough, I find the arrow that shows the way. It's been like that ever since. All I've got to do is be honest about it, wih me, with my own life.
I've stopped planning a long time ago. I've found there was no point in trying to control the path. Took my hand of the wheal. Began to fly without knowing the pilot and let it all flow as such. Why bother, if life is not mine to control?
I just stop, when that time comes. I wait and see. I let it surprise me, good or bad, something's got to give. And give is all I have.
So, I got to know my deepest dreams. Not the ones I thought I knew, but the ones I was prepared for. The ones I was made for. And should I accept them, I came to realize that those would really let me be what I'm meant to be.
Some of us are made to be artists, in our own peculiar ways, others are meant to be loved. Some people were born to make others happy, or to help others simply rule the world. But only some of us know why. I (still) don't.
But there's a price you must pay. One life is not enough if you let yourself go. You dream too many dreams. And if you choose to let time take care of your destinies, you'll find there's not enough space to fit them all. And they can be a million miles away.
You want more. I want more. But the road I follow isn't large enough.
One by one I've been reaching my secret goals, But for that I must pay the price not to choose a single one. Time has shown me I can't stop it. And it goes by.
If you're born to be a jumper, how can you dream of steady flowers? That's the price.
I've dreamt another dream, and once again that dream is taking me away. Away from single flowers, from smaller creatures, apart from a single pair of hands, one heart, for I was born to go far.
And both dreams are too large to cope, a million miles away.
